


Sponsored by predictable crime shows

by elyteracy



Series: the future is uncertain (and what a sweet thought that is) [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Chicago Seals, Fluff, Gratuitous Brooklyn 99 reference, King is the laziest cat, M/M, Stupid way to die: slipping in the shower, and a little bit of smut, completely invented Chicago Exy team, just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 21:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12308016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyteracy/pseuds/elyteracy
Summary: A lazy Sunday in the life of Neil and Andrew, ten years later.





	Sponsored by predictable crime shows

**Author's Note:**

> i have nothing to say, it's just fluff, that's it  
> 1 inch = more or less 3 centimeters for you Americans  
> join me on tumblr [ @elyteracy ](http://elyteracy.tumblr.com)

Neil traces Andrew's face with his eyes. His bushy eyebrows, the straight slope of his nose, his strong jawline, the splatter of faint freckles on the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. Their fingers are a few centimeters apart. Neil doesn't move, enjoying the few minutes of quiet morning and Andrew's sleeping face.  
  
Eventually, he sits up. The movement is enough to wake Andrew who opens his eyes instantly. It used to be worse, with Andrew's fingers reaching for knives or fists punching Neil. Now, he simply looks at Neil for a moment. Then, he pulls the cover back to his shoulders and closes his eyes again.  
  
Andrew will probably never stay asleep through someone moving in his bed, but this is good. This is enough.   
  
Neil slips out of bed. He grabs his running leggings, shorts, and a t-shirt. He changes in the bathroom and brushes his teeth, staring at the mirror without really seeing anything.  
  
He almost trips on Sir, the cat weaving himself between his legs. He curses under his breath and steps away. "You are a menace," he says to the cat, as he runs a hand along his back. Sir meows, unconcerned and pleased.   
  
King is nowhere to be seen. She is probably sleeping in the kitchen on her favorite chair, the one who gets sunrays in the morning.   
  
He takes his hoodie from the back of the couch and pulls it on. It's an old Palmetto one, the color faded to peach with time. Andrew glares at it every time he sees Neil wearing it.  
  
His phone is on the coffee table, charging. He pockets it and slips his feet in his snickers.  
  
The security guard at the entrance of the building greets him with a good morning. Neil gives him a short nod. He and Neil have talked a couple of times, but mostly, they keep to themselves. His name is Leon, he is married and has a daughter. He knows that Andrew and Neil are a couple, that they are professional athletes and that they have two cats. That is the extent of their relationship.   
  
The sky is a dirty gray. He hopes it won't rain before he comes back.   
  
The morning is cold enough that his breath comes in soft puffs of smoke.  
  
He stretches, watching the street. It is almost empty at this early hour especially on a Sunday morning. A businessman is pulling a suitcase, and a woman is walking her dog.  
  
He takes off.  
  


.

  
  
Andrew is in the kitchen when he comes back. He can usually be found on the balcony the rest of the year, but these days are a bit frisky.   
  
Andrew would never admit it, but Neil knows he gets easily cold.   
  
"Hey," he says.   
  
Andrew eyes his hoodie, like Neil expected him to, and huffs. He hands him a cup of coffee. King is still on the kitchen chair and probably hasn't moved since he left. Neil admires her laziness. He sits on the table instead, curling his hands around the warm cup. "Slept well?"   
  
Andrew hums. His eyes trail along Neil's thighs with appreciation. Neil smiles in his cup. He is still clueless when it comes to flirting and doesn't quite understand sexual attraction, but he's learned to recognize it from Andrew.  
  
Something tickles his feet, and he wriggles his toes, bare since he left his shoes and socks in the entryway. He looks down to find Sir nipping at his feet. "He almost tripped me this morning," he says.   
  
Andrew looks at him over the rim of his mug. "A pity he didn't."  
  
Neil snorts, feeling loose from his run and comfortable from the quiet morning and the warm drink.  
  
Andrew puts his coffee on the table and takes a step closer. Neil's feet brush against his legs. His gaze is expectant, staring at Neil's lips. Neil raises a hand and cups Andrew's cheek. Andrew leans forward, squeezing his thighs, and kisses him. Neil tangles his fingers in Andrew's hair, and hums contentedly into his mouth. His lips are soft and taste like too sweet coffee. Neil can't get enough of it.  
  
Andrew pulls away slightly. Neil gently brushes their noses together. "I hate you," Andrew says, with no animosity.   
  
Neil leans back on his hands. "Sure you do."   
  
Andrew ignores him. "There is one cupcake left." It's his way of saying _if you want it you can have it_.   
  
Jean made them. He is surprisingly good at baking. He left them the last time he came over.   
  
Jean isn't his friend, but Jeremy is, because Jeremy is friend with everybody. And Jean is never far behind him.  
  
A part of him is... maybe not happy, but relieved that Jean got this. This happy ending. The other part, the darker more prominent part of himself is pleased with Riko's work coming undone, with him slowly slipping back into oblivion. It leaves him with a dark satisfaction that makes him feel closer to Nathaniel than Neil some days.   
  
"No, take it" he says, because Jean may a good baker, but sweets and cakes are still not his thing.   
  
"I wasn't asking," Andrew denies, and bites into the white frosting.  
  
Neil hops off from the table. "Gonna take a shower," he announces, already on his way to the bathroom. He dumps his hoodie in the humper and leaves the rest of his clothes on the bathroom's floor.  
  
He hears the door crack open before he sees it. He pops open the glass panel just enough to poke his head out. "Decided to join me?"   
  
"Yes or no?" Andrew asks, his hand already on the edge of his shirt.   
  
"Yes," Neil says, and finishes washing off the shampoo from his hair.   
  
Andrew steps inside, and crowds him against the shower wall. Neil takes a sharp breath at the cold tiles on his back but lets himself be kissed.   
  
Andrew busies himself with dropping kisses along his throat. Neil rubs his thumb along his hairline before pressing a kiss against his temple.  
  
Andrew looks up at him. Neil pushes his hair back from his forehead. "Mmh, you look very handsome like this."  
  
"You are an idiot."  
  
"You are kissing this idiot. Naked. In a shower."  
  
"Shut up," Andrew growls, pinching his side. Neil wrinkles his nose at the pain.   
  
"Why don't you make me?"  
  
Andrew drops to his knees, looking satisfied at the widening of Neil's eyes.   
  
"I want to blow you."  
  
Neil licks his lips, enjoying the sight of Andrew's muscled back.   
  
"Neil, yes or no?"   
  
"Yes, Andrew," Neil says, and bites his lips.   
  
Andrew takes one of his legs and fits it over his shoulder. Neil has one hand in his hair and the other bracing the wall. Andrew kisses the inside of his thigh, then his hipbone. Neil sucks in a sharp breath, his heel digging into Andrew's back.   
  
Andrew is an inch away from his dick when Neil slips.   
  
He bangs his head against the wall, hits his elbow on the floor, and ends up sprawled in Andrew's lap, leg still on his shoulder.   
  
Thank god for flexibility.   
  
They blink at each other, wide-eyed. Andrew is still gripping his thigh. Neil starts to laugh, a bubbling sound that spills out of his lips, almost surprising in its carelessness.   
  
Neil doesn't laugh much.   
  
Andrew stares a beat too long before he grumbles: "We are never having sex in the shower ever again," and pushes him off. 

  
.

  
King hasn't moved from her chair when they come back to the kitchen. Her fluffy tail swings gently back and forth.   
  
"She is so lazy, it's amazing," Neil comments.   
  
Andrew makes a small huffing sound which Neil has learned is his version of a laugh. Something soft and grateful warms his chest.   
  
Neil makes himself tea before curling on the sofa. He turns on the TV, finding a random crime show. King, who seems to have a sixth sense for when Neil sits on the couch, jumps in his lap and makes herself comfortable. Andrew sits on the other side of the sofa, opens his book, and tucks his feet under Neil's thigh.  
  
Neil can't miss the parallel between the cat and Andrew. He hides a smile behind a hand, but Andrew is not paying attention to him anyway.  
  
He answers a couple of messages on his phone. "TV not interesting?" Andrew asks.  
  
"The accountant's done it," Neil says as an answer.   
  
Andrew looks at him blankly for a second then goes back to his book. Neil runs a hand along King's spine, and she purrs contentedly.   
  
"Guess you were right," Andrew says when the aforementioned accountant is arrested on screen.   
  
"Told you."   
  
Andrew closes his book and scoots closer. Neil straightens up, immediately interested. "Yes or no?" Andrew asks.   
  
Neil tilts his head to the side and kisses the tip of Andrew's nose. "Yes," he whispers.  
  
King jumps off his lap when he starts leaning backward. Andrew's mouth is gentle but insistent. He runs his thumb along Andrew's jaw, drinks in his pleased sigh. He lets himself fall back, pulling Andrew with him.   
  
His phone rings. "Leave it," Andrew says, kissing his way along his collarbone.   
  
Neil glances at the name on the display. "Can't, it's Coach Ellsworth."  
  
Andrew groans, a scowl on his face. He lays between Neil's legs, his head on his chest.   
  
"Hey, Coach," Neil greets her.   
  
"Josten," Olivia Ellsworth (who goes by Liv because in her words: "I fucking hate my name."), Coach of the Chicago Seals, says. "Sorry to call you on your day off. Practice will start an hour later tomorrow. "  
  
"I see. Is there a problem?" He asks more out of politeness than actual interest.   
  
"No. Connor took a couple of vacation days, and I have an errand," she explains briefly. "Do I need to call Minyard?"   
  
"No, he's with me."  
  
"Good. You and your boy have a nice day."   
  
"What did she want?" Andrew asks once he has hung up.   
  
"Practice's an hour later tomorrow. "  
  
Andrew hums. He seems comfortable and not interested in moving. In the background, the TV is still running. Neil glances at it. It's a documentary about some types of endangered fish.  
  
Neil falls back asleep, lulled by the soothing voice of the narrator and Andrew's quiet breathing.   
  


.

  
  
Sir's sharps claws wake him up. "Fuck," he curses. He grabs the cat with one hand, peeling him off his leg, and gently lays him on the floor.   
  
He sits up. It smells like tomatoes, and he can hear someone rummaging in the kitchen.  
  
"What are you making?" He asks Andrew, stepping in the kitchen.   
  
"Bolognaise."  
  
Neil looks at his back, his strong shoulders. Andrew always has trouble finding clothes that fit, often too tight around the shoulders, or far too long, covering Andrew's hands (which Neil finds adorable, a thought that will never be said aloud).   
  
"Staring."   
  
Neil tilts his head. "How do you know? You can't even see me."  
  
"Too quiet."  
  
Neil can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips.  
  
They sit at the table. Andrew serves them. "This is good," Neil praises. "You should cook more often."  
  
"Wouldn't want to give you false expectations."  
  
Neil shakes his head, faking seriousness  "You are right, what was I thinking? It is quite foolish of me to even entertain the idea of you cooking once in a while," he says, with a strong British accent.  
  
"I am laughing," Andrew deadpans. "Finish your pasta, Sir Josten."

 

.

  
  
They go for a walk after lunch.  
  
Andrew bundles himself in clothes. Everything is black except for his flashy scarf. It is a garish thing of red and yellow in the colors of VfB Stuttgart, the football team of the city, and was bought by Nicky as a joke.  
  
Neil has his own scarf, showing his support to the Löwen, Frankfurt's ice hockey team. Andrew had found it hilarious (as much as Andrew can find anything hilarious) especially when Kevin got ridiculously offended on Neil's behalf.  
  
Neil makes a point of wearing it any time he sees Kevin and the weather calls for it.   
  
"Why is Chicago so fucking cold," Andrew complains.   
  
"We can always transfer to a team in California if you want?"   
  
"Too much trouble."   
  
Neil hides his smile in his scarf. Andrew likes it here, is unsaid.  
  
They walk to the park. Neil chatters about this and that and mostly exy. "The San Diego Sharks are doing well this year. Sure you don't wanna go there?"   
  
"If I have to play on Jeremy Knox' team one more time, I will kill someone," Andrew warns.   
  
"He's nice though," Neil says, which is an understatement. Jeremy Knox is more than nice. Jeremy Knox is an angel on Earth.   
  
"He has so many emotions."  
  
Neil stops in his tracks. "Did you just quote Brooklyn Nine-Nine?"   
  
Andrew glares at him and starts walking again. It is answer enough.   
  
Neil catches up with him. "Rosa does remind me of you sometimes."  
  
"I will murder you atrociously."  
  
"Sure, babe. I know a great place to hide bodies," Neil says. "Can I hold your hand before you do?"   
  
Andrew takes his hand out of his pocket offering it to Neil. He takes off his glove and tangles his fingers with Andrew's. Andrew slips back their linked hands in his coat pocket. Neil runs his thumb along the back of his hand, feeling the way the skin stretches over the bones, enjoying its warm in his own.  
  
A cart catches his attention. "Let's get some chestnuts."  
  
Neil burns his fingers opening them, then burns his tongue.  
  
"Stupid," Andrew mutters, watching Neil's struggle with unimpressed eyes.  
  
Neil, his tongue out of his mouth to cool it down, can't answer.   
  


.

  
  
King meows loudly when they come back, asking for food. "I will throw your cat through the window."  
  
Neil hangs his coat and takes off his shoes. "It's our cat." He pets King for a minute. "You already got food, you hell beast." He looks up to find Andrew staring at him. "Something on my face?"  
  
Andrew raises his face with a finger under his chin and kisses him. It's a gentle thing, a kiss born from years of living together, of familiarity and trust.  
  
Neil tugs at Andrew's hair until he can bite along his jaw. Andrew groans in his ear. His hands drifts along his back, squeezing Neil's ass on the way down. He taps Neil's thigh in a silent question. Neil jumps up, and wraps his legs around Andrew's waist.  
  
Andrew carries him across their living room. Neil makes a breathy noise, always turned on by Andrew's displays of strength. Andrew dumps him on the couch. Neil lands with a breathless laugh. Andrew crawls over him to swallow the joyful sound.  
  
"Should be nicer to the people you fuck," he teases, "throwing me on the sofa like that."  
  
Andrew rolls his eyes. "The _person_  I fuck should be pretty and not heard."  
  
Neil stretches his arms over his head, baring his throat, smiling coyly. "Guess I got the pretty part down at least."   
  
"Guess you do," Andrew agrees easily.   
  
Neil turns red. "Oh," he breathes, surprised. Andrew is rare with his affection, and Neil still doesn't know how to deal with it when he is taken off guard.  
  
King mewls loudly, jumping on the back of the couch. Andrew glares at her.  "I'm gonna lock the cats in the kitchen." Andrew grabs King who makes a noise of discontent. Sir follows them, looking up.  
  
Neil hears Andrew closing the door.  
  
He comes back and slides in the space between Neil's legs. He swipes his thumb along his cheekbone, his fingerpad dragging slightly on old scars. Neil brushes their noses together before pressing his lips to the corner of Andrew's mouth.  
  
Andrew takes off his shirt. "Everything over the waistband is fine," he says.  
  
Neil licks his lips and flattens his hands against Andrew's shoulder blades, feeling the muscles move against his palms. Andrew's hand comes resting against his hip. The brush of his thumb against his skin is maddening. Neil drags his teeth along Andrew's shoulder, presses kisses up his neck. "Want you," he whispers in his ear. Andrew's breath hitches slightly.   
  
"Shut up," he says. "Pants?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Neil helps Andrew get rid of his own pants by raising his hips. When Andrew realizes he'll have to move to get them completely off Neil's legs, he gives up and leaves them halfway to his thighs.  
  
He slides the tip of his fingers under Neil's boxers. He looks up. Neil is watching him, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. He bites his lip, nodding. Andrew trails his fingers along the outline of Neil's hard cock. Neil curses under his breath. Andrew pulls his boxers down. He kisses Neil, curling his fingers around his cock, swallowing little noises of pleasure.  
  
With his other hand, he pushes his sweatpants and underwear down. When he starts jerking them both together, Neil's mouth falls open, his head thrown back. Andrew pants against his ear, twisting his wrist. Neil whines, his lips on Andrew's temple. He loops a leg around Andrew's thigh, canting his hips up. Andrew moans quietly against Neil's throat.  
  
His name tumbles from Neil's lips. The way he arcs from the couch and the groans he smothers against Andrew's hairline are telltales signs of how close he is. He tightens his grip and the noise Neil makes, something between a whimper and a moan, is enough to make him come.  
  
He pushes Neil's shirt up, feeling mildly considerate, and paints his stomach with white.  
  
"Andrew," Neil says, all reverent and adoring, and Andrew hates him for it.  
  
When Neil comes, his fingers tighten in Andrew's hair, his eyes flutter and he is as beautiful as always.  
  
(More beautiful maybe. Years has softened his scars, sharpened the traits of his face and given to his eyes a playful glint that makes Andrew's heart feel like it's falling.)  
  
They stay silent, just breathing in each other. Neil's fingers comb gently through his hair.   
  
They don't move from the couch until Neil starts squirming under him and Andrew's feet are cold.   
  


.

  
  
"... So, I couldn't just say no, you see? She was looking at me with her big blue eyes — reminded me of you for a second — and asked me for an autograph, but I was already super late," Matt narrates how he missed his flight on Skype.  
  
"As pathetic as ever, Boyd," Andrew says from behind the couch.   
  
Matt smiles, unbothered. "Everybody knows you have a soft spot for blue eyes, Andrew," he teases.  
  
Neil hides a smile behind his hand. Andrew flicks his ear, apparently well aware of his amusement. "I am not above killing you slowly next time I see you."  
  
Matt grins bigger, showing off all his teeth.  
  
"Going to bed," Andrew tells Neil and runs a hand down his arm. Their fingers catch together for a second. "I'll put the alarm an hour later."  
  
Neil follows Andrew with his gaze. He will probably find him reading in bed.  
  
Matt is watching him with a soft smile when he glances back to the screen. "What?" Neil asks.  
  
Matt shakes his head. "Nothing. I just— I like seeing you happy, that's all."  
  
"Oh," Neil breathes. "I— I like seeing you happy too."  
  
"Thanks, bud."  
  
When Neil comes into the bedroom, Andrew is quietly reading a book. Neil stops for a moment and remembers everything it took to get there. Gratitude makes his stomach warm and full of butterflies. Andrew looks up, an eyebrow raised. Neil shakes his head.  
  
He slips into bed. Andrew closes his book, puts it away before curling up into the covers, his back to the wall.  
  
Neil runs his fingers through Andrew's hair. "'Night."  
  
Andrew hums in response.  
  
Neil turns off the light and goes to sleep. 


End file.
